Page 103 of Sol
I continued, knowing that he needed the validation, “I know you’d die for me,too.”
“I absolutely would,” hevowed.
“And you know what? You don’t have to. Because we’re gonna be together. I love you, don’t you understand that? I’m in love withyou.”
He picked me up like a bride and kissed me, while my hands clung to his neck. Then he carried me up all four flights of stairs to myhome.
* * *
“Aterrorist attackshocked the Andalusian city of Granada tonight as a car bomb went off in a busy shopping district. Dozens of people were injured, but luckily no fatalities. It appeared that the timing mechanism malfunctioned and that the bomb, intended for a night club in the evening, went off ahead of time. Thankfully, this meant that fewer people were near the blast. Now turning to localnews—”
I flipped off theBBC.
My hair was wet from a shower, and I had a new bandage on my forehead. The most delectable man lingered in my kitchen, jeans riding on his hips, T-shirt clinging to his muscles, which mounded like snow moguls on a groomed ski run. He’d made spaghetti. The table was set. Outside all was quiet, although the city wasshaken.
And we were exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Shock waves had blown through the city, and we’d been caught up in them. We needed time toheal.
Luckily, I had him by myside.
I reached up on my tiptoes to kiss him, and I was kissing Trent Milner again, the way I’d wanted to. The way I always wantedto.
Hegroaned.
“I could do this the rest of my life,” he said against myear.
“Then doit.”
“You meanthat?”
“I do. You’re the one for me. You always havebeen.”
He skimmed his fingers along my jawline. “And you’ve been the only one forme.”
After dinner, I curled up with him on my couch. Night noises came in. Quieter than normal. As if no one dared go outside until it wasokay.
That sense of safety,broken.
I trembled in hisarms.
“I was so scared you were hurt,” he whispered. “I lost my best friend. I couldn’t lose you,too.”
“I didn’t know what was happening. I think it’s gonna take me a while toprocess.”
“That’s what post-traumatic stress is. Maybe you should talk to Marie,too.”
“I’ll do that. You talked with her today, right? How did thatgo?”
“It was like cleaning out a wound with peroxide. It stung, but I felt better after. The main thing I got out of it was that she said Degan’s death wasn’t my fault, and I needed to forgivemyself.”
I stared at him. “Degan’s death wasn’t yourfault.”
He bopped my nose. “Even you blamed me forit.”
“I didn’t mean it, though.” I faced him directly. “Trent. Degan’s death was caused by the bomber. Notyou.”
“I know. But I still feel like I could have donemore.”
I set my head on his shoulder. “I know. I feel that way,too.”
